Doors
by DSLeo
Summary: They stand in front of many doors. What do these doors mean? Set at (mostly invented) times in S6. Severe angst. Oneshot in four parts.


Disclaimer: Not mine, never was, never will be, no harm intended.

Summary: They stand in front of many doors. What do these doors mean? Set at invented times in late S6. Severe angst. Oneshot in four parts.

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: T for language

AN: This is going to be depressing. If this is going to bother anyone, feel free to hit the back button. You've been warned.

GG GG GG

* * *

 **Door One: Gilmore Mansion: Lorelai**

"Come _on_ ," says Rory, as I stand frozen in place. Doomed, waiting, _damned_.

That _door_.

"You know," I joke desperately, "it really should have a sign, abandon all hope ye who enter..."

"Uh," grunts my daughter, and hits the doorbell with a roll of her eyes. "Grow _up_ , Mom."

I shrink inside my coat.

It is impossible to be adult in this house.

That door.

That _door_.

I wasn't even as tall as the doorknob is high when I tried to walk into the house after my first day of school. It was locked.

I still feel that panic.

Locked out. No one home. I jumped and jumped to reach the doorbell, and finally I pushed it.

Ding-chime-dong-ding it went.

And just like now...

"Lorelai, what are you doing standing out there?"

Oh God, thirty years and more and it's the _same words_.

I say now as I did then, "Hi, Mom."

"Well, come in, come in, honestly, what is _wrong_ with that maid!"

"Hi Grandma!" my daughter chirps.

Oh God, I should never have kept it from Rory. I should never have tried to make her have with them what I never could. I lost her to their pool house over this. I lost her to their world, to Logan and money and crazy yacht-stealing parties, and maybe if I had told her once, even once, what it is to me to stand in front of that door, that _door_ , and be greeted the same decades later...

I shut my eyes, drawing deep breaths. I see the twinkle of my engagement ring. It is not a talisman. Nothing is a talisman in this house. No defense against Emily.

I tell the maid-du-jour, "Thank you..."

She mumbles, "Bette."

"Bette," I say, and smile. I know how rare smiles are in this house. I know how often there are frowns. I cannot let someone young and scared come into this house without seeing at least one smile.

"Lorelai! Hurry up!"

I flinch. Luke can't be here. Of course. April. Anna. Oh God, please, please, exist and be good, okay? Please? I'm already shaking inside.

My father beams. "Ah, Lorelai, you look lovely."

The tightness in my chest eases. Same words as I heard a thousand times, but they're indifferent, which certainly outdoes...

"That dress again? Honestly, Lorelai, if you're in financial trouble..."

"Double that martini, Dad," I request with a lame attempt at a smile. "Thank you."

His eyes cut briefly to my mother, and for a moment there's something that is almost shared sympathy.

I turn on my mother, brittle and frail as I always am in her presence. Until I'm drunk enough to forget why I hate this house, why I want to hate her, but I can't hate her, she's not the screw-up, I'm the screw-up, I've always been the screw-up, oh God, I need that martini!

"Really, Lorelai, that rag must be two or three years out of fashion!"

Rory bites her lips and looks down. Is it strength or sweetness that lets her get along in this house when I can't breathe the moment I step through that damn door?

"More than five years," I say with a hard grin. "I got it at a rummage sale and altered it to fit."

My mother's nostrils flare. Her lip almost curls. "Oh, how very _frugal_."

"Grandma!" my daughter chirps out. "Do you want to see my pictures of us at the fundraiser? Logan and I had the best time."

My mother melts into open adoration. She sits on the sofa with Rory to gush over snapshots of Logan Too-Like-Christopher Huntzberger. Rich, careless, taking life not as it comes but as he demands it. Another mistake on the list that always screams in my head when I am here. As if that door is a portal into my own personal ninth circle of torment. Yes, Mother, you'd be amazed if you knew what I think as I sit and nod and drink while Dad tells me about insurance. I was a straight-A student, Mother. I did everything right to make you happy, and it wasn't enough, never is enough, but it gave me a wonderful vocabulary and a magnificent appreciation for metaphor. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, this is the way to the city of woe.

Whoa. A few more of these martinis, I'll be lucky to remember how to spell my name. Thank you, Dad. There's a man who knows Emily Gilmore goes best with hard liquor.

"There, Lorelai, see what happens when you associate with the right people?" Mom crows as the maid enters. Bette, I remember. I try to remember them all. I was forgotten so often. "Look at this, Rory's standing with a senator and his granddaughter!"

"I didn't vote for him," I say brightly. "Bette, is it time to eat?"

"It is only three minutes of seven! Must I change all the clocks to digital monstrosities to accommodate the inability of adults to tell time? Lorelai, you know dinner is served at seven, not a moment sooner!"

And we're back to this being my fault.

Bette begins to retreat, her brown eyes wide and desperate. I shake my head slightly, anticipating the rebuke.

"Oh for pity's sake, we may as well go into the dining room, by the time Bette learns how to tell the big hand from the little hand, we'll have starved."

"Now, Emily," rumbles my father.

Through another portal into a deeper hell-circle. Why did Luke have to fix Anna's plumbing? Why does she come first? And I still can't even call Christopher without his permission but he can cancel Friday night dinner on no notice to fix a leaky sink for Anna...

No, I can't think like this. I have to believe it's true, it's real, it's temporary, it's not revenge for my not doing it his way when Rory dropped out of Yale. Luke's not that way. He's not petty. He's not Mom. He's not going to forbid me to exist just for his convenience.

"Eat your fish, Richard."

"Emily, we've had fish every day for weeks."

"This is tilapia, and the greens are..."

"Atrocious," mutters Dad, but eats. We chatter a little about Mother's latest DAR meeting, the awful manners of the hostess at a restaurant with a jab at Luke. "We may as well have been eating in a diner".

When low-fat yogurt is served for dessert, even Rory makes a face. I don't even care that low-fat yogurt is disgusting. I eat gratefully. Anything to avoid speaking. Anything to stop needing four or five more martinis against the knife wound sure to come.

"Do tell Luke we missed him," purrs my mother.

"I will," I say dully. My low-fat yogurt is a little salty. And has a drop of mascara in it. No. No crying. There will be no tears at the supper table of Emily Gilmore. Daughters will not come in front doors without reprimand, enter by the kitchen without punishment, crawl in and out of windows, and there will be _no tears_.

Oh, Rory, I'm so glad you know it's all right to cry. I did that right, at least.

"Is he busy with his other family?"

"Grandma!" hisses Rory.

"Well, it's a legitimate question. We haven't met them, have we? Of course not. We're not good enough to meet the child of Luke Danes and whichever of his ex-girlfriends is the mother."

Oh God, does she care that she's slicing me into tiny bloody pieces of nothing? Can nothing even be sliced apart? It must be possible. It happens every time I come here.

"I suppose it's the girl's mother. She must be very pretty."

"Mom," I whisper. Does she _hear_ herself? Would she care if she did?

"Well, what else am I to think, Lorelai? You finally manage to stay engaged but there's no talk about invitations or..."

"Mom!" I shout, slamming my hands on the table. Damn it. I always lose my temper. I never _win_ this. Why do I still fight? "See the shiny ring? Yes, we're getting married! Do you want him to let his daughter live in a house with leaky plumbing when he can fix it? He's not running out on her the way Chris ran out on us!"

"You chased Christopher away!"

I close down. Close up. My voice breaks. I break. "Thank you for dinner." I lean down, kiss my father's cheek. "We'll see you next Friday."

I cast a look at Rory. Please. Please, Rory, be on my side tonight. Someone, be on my side.

She swallows. "Actually, um, Mom, I'm going to stay a little? Ask Grandpa his opinion on some of these jobs and internships?"

"Oh. Sure. Yeah. Fine. Call me, sweets."

I rush to the foyer, snatching up my coat, and my sweating hands can't turn the knob of the door. _Out out let me out_!

I lean there, shoulders shaking. Head pounding. I remember too much. I wish I didn't.

"Lorelai?"

Mother's voice. I hunch tiny in my coat. Please, no. No more.

"Lorelai, whatever is wrong with you?"

I ask what I've wanted to ask since I was too short to reach the doorbell. "Why isn't the question ever _what's wrong_ , Mom? Why is it always _what's wrong with Lorelai_?"

"What are you talking about?"

The doorknob turns. I pull. Fresh air beckons me. _Run run run, Lorelai..._

"Do you remember when I came home from school and I went to the kitchen entrance because the front door was locked?"

"Lorelai, for heaven's sake, make _sense_!"

I try again, wetting my lips with my tongue. Tasting old lipstick and yogurt. "Do you remember when Rory was five and Chris hadn't even seen her for two years? I came for Christmas with Rory. I asked you and Dad to help me find a lawyer. To sue him for child support. Do you remember, Mom?" I beg.

Her perfectly manicured hands smooth her perfect Chanel skirt. "What does that have to do with..."

"Mom, do you remember what you said?" I plead, my toes inches from the freedom on the other side of this imprisoning door. I try. I always try. Why must I try? She will never love me as I am. Never has, never will, and neither will anyone else.

Her face transforms to stone. "I was not going to allow you to pull this family through even more scandal and disgrace than you already had, by insinuating that the Haydens didn't live up to their obligations!"

"They didn't!" I cry, and the house around me stifles the noise, deadens it, kills it, buries it.

"So this is my fault, that your fiancé can't be bothered to see to his obligations to you now that he's been ambushed by this magically appearing daughter?"

I can never speak in this house. I can joke, I can yell, but I can never speak. I try to force Mom to see it in me. Look in my eyes and _see me_.

She sees... Her great disappointment.

I bow my head. "Thank you again for dinner," I murmur in a tiny voice. "Good night."

I pull my coat tight. I walk with my head bowed. I climb into my jeep. I take out my phone to text Luke, then set it aside. I can't do it. Not when I can see that door.

That damn door.

It was for Rory's sake I walked back through that door. So she'd have her grandparents.

So I might have my parents.

This is the door she sees as a portal to fairy-lands of dreams-come-true. Tuition appears at the snap of fingers. Cars, books, jewelry, parties, all to be had without a concern for the cost.

Why didn't I teach her better? Why didn't I teach her that the cost of those things could be her soul? I thought she knew. I thought she saw that when she went back to Yale.

My little girl is behind that door.

That damn door.

"Reader, if thou to credit what is here art slow," I whisper, remembering more of Dante's _Inferno_ from honors literature, "'tis no surprise, for I can scarce believe, who saw it clear as clear."

I shut the door to the jeep. I look at my parents' house. I never should have come back. Yet I do. Over and over. Thinking that someday, I'll open that door and be welcome.

* * *

AN: The running joke in the show with Lorelai not wanting to ring the doorbell always had terrible pathos under it, for me. References to and lines from Dante Alighieri's _The Divine Comedy_ , the _Inferno_.

* * *

 **Door Two: Luke's Diner: Lorelai**

I love that door.

The first time I opened it, I was met with voices, noise, bustle, _life_.

And, of course, that coffee.

I can still see Rory fluttering in her fairy wings, asking people to the funeral for her caterpillar. I can see phantoms of Kirk and Taylor and Miss Patty and Babette, huddled up to gossip in a corner table, and the ghost of Rachel, the residue of Nicole. The day I demanded coffee and gave him that horoscope because he wouldn't look twice at me without Rory being at my side, and God, the day I first found out about Rachel and realized he and I were barely friends after all.

He never told me about Rachel. I found out when I wore the sweatshirt and he yelled at me like I'd killed someone, and I was scared of him. I never wanted to hurt him. I never told him how it hurt me that he didn't even tell me he had a Rachel.

Or Anna.

He seemed furious with me about Nicole, but how was I supposed to read his mind and know he wanted me to make the first move? I never do that. The chance of rejection is too big. Way too big. Huge, in fact. Tremendous, ginormous, insanely Godzilla-like.

I thought Luke understood that. I thought Luke was like every other guy. Would make a move if he wanted to. Only he's insecure, too. It's sweet in a crying-choked-up way when I realize that. How can people with a loving family ever know what it is to be afraid of rejection? But he's not like every other guy. He isn't.

Wait. He made moves on every woman but me. Maybe the town is wrong. Maybe it's only been the sex and now he's had that, he's done? Like Chris and Jason and Max?

No. It can't be. He has _me_. He's the only one I've ever let have any of _me_. My real me, deep-down-scared-shy-crying me. The me who wants the princess dream and the old age in rockers on a porch and doesn't care if she never hears opera or has jewelry. That's the me he knows. Only Luke. Only _Luke_.

Only... I tremble, in my jeep, although it isn't cold. We have to sort this out. We're barely together. We're sliding away, and the harder I want to hold on, the more I know I _can't_. He hates clingy. He hates constriction. He needs space, time. I have to be patient. Give him more space, more time. He _will_ come home to me. He _will_.

Only...

I barely come here now.

He barely comes to the house.

We're barely. That's all. Barely.

No. No more. Damn it, this is Luke's Diner, I am Luke's fiancée, and if he's going to have a kid and an ex in his life, well, guess what? I have that. He's coped with it. I'll cope with this. If he can tell me I can't even talk to Chris, then I can damn well let him know he can't stand me up for Anna without even calling. No. Not happening. And if Anna doesn't want me around her kid, hey, guess what? Anna can talk to _me_. Meet _me_. Does she seriously think another single mother wouldn't understand? _Rory_ met April. Kirk knows all about her. Luke's let her spend time around _Taylor_.

But not me.

What did it mean when I didn't let someone near Rory?

Oh God, I'm going to be sick.

No. This is us. Me and Luke. Get a grip, Gilmore.

I walk to the door of the diner. I love this diner. How many hundreds of times have I come here and ignored the sign that says _Closed_ and he's poured me coffee and we've talked? He even went along with my Mimi gag after the big fight after Jess and Rory had the car accident. This is where I asked him to marry me and he said yes. This diner has his name on it, and my heart inside it.

The yellow coffee cup is cheerful. Tempting. Oh, a cup of coffee would taste so good right now. And it is _normal_. Normal. Our normal. I come to the diner. That is _normal_. Damn it, this is my life too!

My hand closes on chilly metal.

My eyes see.

April is packing away schoolbooks into a bag. Anna is lounging-Anna-pretty-Anna-prettier-than-me-Anna-is leaning against the counter by the cash register at _my_ place. She flips her hair. Luke is smiling at her. It's not a big smile, but it's a smile.

I wish I could see her face. Please, tell me they're arguing?

I press my left hand on the glass. My breath mists the glass.

I catch a faint hint of her voice. Thanking him. For being there, for understanding.

I used to do that.

Oh no.

Oh God.

Was I just a place-holder until...

Mother of his child?

Rachel?

Someone else?

It explains so much. Too much. All much. Muchety-much too much.

He used to have his back turned, and look up and around, and see me at this door. As if he sensed me. Knew where I was without having to use his eyes.

Now, he is facing the door and doesn't even notice I'm here.

He's hugging April and laughing. He's so happy in there, without me to screw it up.

I push away from the door, and back up carefully. I sprint to my jeep, heels and all, tears streaming through my mascara, down my face. No. Oh no. No. That's why he didn't want to get married. Of course. That's why he was angry at the Vineyard. I have a ring, but he wants someone else.

No. Not Luke. He wouldn't do that!

Everyone said he loved Rachel, but I was a good math student. I may have spent over a decade overwhelmed with work and Rory and never having enough time for all the chores in the day, but I did well in math. Anna happened while he loved Rachel.

 _Said_ he loved Rachel?

My head will implode. Brain squiring out my ears. Crushed by this monster crawling out of my chest like a Ridley Scott sci-fi epic. No. This isn't Luke. Not Luke. Luke... Luke...

Luke didn't tell me Rachel existed. Luke didn't tell me he ever dated anyone named Anna. Luke eloped with Nicole on a whim but didn't even ask me to marry him. I asked. Oh God. Oh no. No. Not again. I can't screw this up. _I can't screw this up_!

I already screwed up. I was so worried he'd hate me for talking to Christopher, and now he hates me for it, and there's no way out of reality. Nothing he's done is as bad as what I've done. I got pregnant because I was a drunk, angry kid. I ran away from home. I ran from marrying Max, and it doesn't matter I didn't love him, I should've kept my word, or stayed to face it, but I ran, and my mother is right.

I always ruin things.

I ruin _everything_.

I can't let myself ruin this. I have to stop me.

I lean over, find tissues, blow my nose, mop up. I have a spine. I have to use it. I have to talk to him. Tonight. Whether he's in the mood or not. Because I'm sure as hell not in the mood. Not after seeing _this_. He didn't even tell me he _talks_ with Anna, and I can't so much as e-mail Rory's father? No. This is getting too weird. Too un-Luke. Time to stop it. Time to be Lorelai. Me. Angry, loud, scared, shaking-in-her-Jimmy-Choos _me_.

I glance up to re-apply my mascara. No sense going in unarmed.

Anna is walking to her car, arm around April's shoulders. Laden down with a backpack, as Rory's used to be.

Luke is scowling at the door of the diner.

He picks the rag out of his back pocket, lifts the bottle of cleaner, and with a spray-wipe-wipe, my handprint is gone.

I faintly hear him mutter, "Damn Kirk," and then he goes inside. Turns off the lights.

I hang onto my phone with both hands, staring hard at the door of the diner. Willing it to open. For Luke to walk to my house, _our_ house.

Then I sit, staring at the dark door, waiting for my phone to ring, beep, hoot. A call, a text, an e-mail. _Anything_.

The window over the diner flames with light.

And now there's no door into Luke's Diner. Only dark glass, reflecting a ghost of a ghost of a Lorelai sitting in her jeep alone.

* * *

AN: Inconsistency is inherent in human nature. So is insecurity, unfortunately.

* * *

 **Door Three: A condo: Lorelai**

I know what lies beyond this door.

Damnation.

Salvation.

Rory loves me because she has to. I'm her mom.

Dad loves me because he has to. I'm his daughter.

Mom loves me, but I'm not sure she likes me, even if I _am_ her daughter.

Sookie loves me, but as a friend and business partner.

Nobody loves me for _all of me_. The bad, good, ugly, wrinkled, scared, bossy, second-childhood-living because mine ended when the stick turned pink, and yes, I talk too much, it's my shield, my sword, my shining horse, and yes, I dress in short skirts, but if they look at my legs, they won't see my eyes, they won't see that I'm dancing a jitterbug on a thin sheet of ice over boiling lava unless I'm with Luke.

I'm not with Luke.

Oh God.

 _I'm not with Luke_.

Why didn't he love me? I tried. I tried so hard. I didn't say anything. I stayed away. I let him yell at me. I asked him to marry me. I agreed to put off the wedding a second time, even though my biological clock is running down so fast that I can already hear the alarm telling me I've expired, I'm past my best-by-use-by date.

He has to think of April.

What's left to think? You have a child. Her mother can be a royal beyotch. I'd be on your side if you'd just _let me in_.

It's Luke's door I want to stand at. Luke's door I want to pound and scratch and scream at.

I'm not welcome at his door anymore.

I hurt.

I didn't think a broken heart could make my _hair_ hurt. I guess that's proof of love. Hurray for me. Lorelai Gilmore does her best and she ends up ruining it all anyway.

Maybe Rory's better off in the Hartford world. The one I've built keeps falling down.

If I knock on this door, I'm...

Going to see Chris.

Who always loves me.

Or at least loves a version of me.

That's more than anyone else does.

No. It's more than Luke does.

Take this, Luke! I'm talking to Christopher without your permission! And you can go off with Anna and April and have your perfect life and maybe I'll track down Rachel and tell her how wrong she was about us, how wrong, how _wrong I am_.

It was nice, to be a teenager again, tonight. At dinner. Goofing off, making a game of Emily's schemes. Like old times.

Old stupid times.

But at least then, for a little while, someone loved me warts and all.

Not for long. No. Chris never loves for long. He loves for _now_.

I'd settle for that.

I want Luke. Enough to die at his door if it meant he'd forgive me.

I don't even know anymore what I did wrong. Was it talking? Not talking? Talking at the wrong time? Helping? Not helping? Coming too close? Staying too far? If he'd only let me know what to _do_! I waited, I tried, I wanted...

This to be another door. The door that leads to Luke.

Now or never, Gilmore. Knock or go home.

Luke is _never_.

Chris...

Is a mistake.

Always a mistake.

But not even Chris would see me like this, and think it's time for tequila and a roll in the Egyptian cotton sheets. God forbid a Hayden roll in the hay.

Rory's got Logan. My parents will just... Dad will sigh and Mom will yell. Sookie's up to her eyebrows in marriage and kids. I suppose I could try a hotline. Is there a 1-800-screw-up number? There should be. I'll start one. For people who always screw up.

Why?

Whenever I had a bad night, I ran to Luke.

But Luke doesn't want me to run to him anymore. He yelled at me for staying away, but he yelled at me for being involved, and I don't know what he _wants_ , but it's not _me_.

I never live up to expectations.

I only live down to them.

I'm so different now than I was when Rory was conceived. Stupid, angry, rebellious, drunk. Then wrapped up in Rory and earning enough to survive, get my GED, have a better job, make a better life, go to college even. No time for men except to flirt and walk away, and if it got me a discount, God bless my old too-short skirts that I couldn't always afford to replace. Anything to make it better for Rory than it was for me.

Even letting Chris back in. Over and over. To see Rory's eyes light up and shine and hope this time I'd make him stay. This time, he'd love us enough to stay.

I'm the mom. It was my job to be the one to make him stay.

Good. Another failure. I'd almost forgotten that one.

But Chris changed, too. Right? Of course right. He's got an actual job, he drives a normal car, and he takes care of a kid on his own. Okay, he has millions of dollars to do it with, thanks to his inheritance, but he lost Sherry. He'll know what it's like for me to lose Luke, won't he?

Besides, he owes me. I nearly lost Luke to keep Chris company when his father died. He can let me cry into a pillow for a while before I go home and start over.

Start over and over and over and over...

He eloped with Nicole, but not me.

Rachel came back and he never asked questions, but not with me.

He has a daughter with Anna, but never with me.

My hand touches this door. This plain door with no memories blotting it.

Knowing me, this will somehow become a mistake.

No. I can hear GG. I exhale, relax. A toddler around is just what I need. Distraction, babble. A glimpse into the life that Mom wanted me to have with Chris. To remind me that I don't want it. That I was right to not want it, to not trust it if he promised, because Chris and promises aren't compatible.

I can do this. A glass of water, a snack, back to Stars Hollow feeling like one person at one point did know and love _me_.

God, I'm selfish and weak and stupid. I should run away. But isn't that what I do that gets me in trouble? Running away?

I'm so confused.

I want Luke.

So why is it Chris who opens his door to me?

* * *

AN: Sleeping with Chris was the worst possible emotional band-aid ever, with the exception of marrying him just to prove she could in fact get married, or whatever the (il)logic was in S7. Still scratching my head over that one.

* * *

 **Door Four: The Crap Shack: Luke**

"I slept with..."

The rest blurs.

I stare at the door.

Her door.

 _Our_ door.

Wasn't it?

Isn't it?

Oh God.

I went to Liz. Not Lorelai. All that crap about not wanting to make Lorelai sad after Rory came home. I couldn't even kid _myself_. I was waiting for her to break up with me. I've been waiting for it since she agreed to go out with me. I've been waiting for it since Rachel left the first time. Since Mom died. Since Liz ran away. I know they'll leave, so hey, me first, and that means...

I don't win. I don't win a damn thing.

She said _now or never_.

She _meant it_.

How did I convince myself Lorelai doesn't mean what she says, that she spouts babble? She does that in the diner, at parties, but not with me. She's always been straight with me. Told me what she means.

Until I shut her up.

How the hell did I do that? _Why_ did I do that?

I think I have to throw up.

I was so glad she shut up. Meant I could focus on...

No, not April. Be honest, Danes. Man up. Before Jess sends a self-help book.

I wanted to focus on _me_. Not Lorelai, not Rory, not Yale, not April, not Anna. _Me_. My hurt feelings, my anger, my shock, my confusion, my no-clue-what-to-do.

I had this amazing single mom right there, willing to help, tell me how a single mom would see it, what might work, even help with talking to April...

And I didn't even let her in the diner at the same time as April.

Oh no.

Oh God.

That handprint.

The night Anna and I were having the very polite argument about April's summer plans.

I know only one person who comes to the diner without a care after I put up the _Closed_ sign.

And I didn't even look for her jeep. Call her. Text. Nothing. I went up to my own bed in my own space in my own building to sulk over my own feelings.

She saw me talking to Anna. God, I can't imagine how that felt. I know how I feel if she even mentions Christopher.

Wait.

I've been barely talking to Lorelai for months, and when I do, it's to tell her... What? She can't see her kid's parent? She can't meet _mine_?

What the hell?

If she tried that on me, I'd walk out, never look back. You can't do that. I have to see Anna, talk to her, be on good terms. We share a kid. I may not want to share a kid with Anna, but I do, and...

Oh God.

Oh _crap_.

I can't knock on that door.

I can't knock on the door of the house I remodeled. Fixed. Planned to live in.

Left.

I left.

And she left.

And now we're gone.

Why did she go to Chris? Why him?

If I don't have a stroke from anger, I know I'll understand. Under the rage giving me a pounding headache, I do understand.

Someone loves her. It's Rory or Chris, and I guess Rory wasn't around and...

And the way she looked, why didn't I see? Why did I take two days to get my ass in gear and get over here? Why did I wait? Why didn't I even call her to see if she made it home that night? What did I think was going to happen? She'd crawl to me and tell me how wonderful I am and how much she missed me? Because that's what Rachel always did? That's what I wished Mom would do, instead of being dead? That she'd need ten minutes to realize her mistake and I could afford to sit back and sulk?

I went to Liz first because Liz will never see me as a bad guy. Let's be honest, if we're going to puke and shake. Liz will never see me as a bad guy.

I told Lorelai I'd get around to eloping with her. I told her I don't jump. When she saw me jump with Nicole, and then try to make that stupid mistake _stick_ , for no other reason than... What? Proving someone wanted me?

God, this isn't funny. It's not a joke. It's not a prank. She's not coming out and yelling Happy Belated April Fool.

The door is closed.

Forever.

I lost Lorelai.

I lost her months ago.

She was my best friend and I just... stopped. I stopped. So I could feel sorry for myself about Anna thinking I'm a bad guy. So I wouldn't be distracted from being April's dad. There's logic for you. If I wanted time, why didn't I close the damn diner? Have Cesar and Lane run it for a while? No. I had to shut out Lorelai. Not Kirk or Taylor or Liz, who's about the worst role model for a kid I can imagine. No. I shut out _Lorelai_. Telling myself she's too demanding, too selfish, to share me or understand.

Who was I trying to kid? She went to college, raised Rory, paid all her bills and managed an inn. Built an inn. And made time for town festivals, family Friday night dinners she hated, and Sookie, and Babette, and, yeah, _me_.

Was it because she and Anna have a couple things in common, and resenting Anna meant... No, I can't be that bad. Can I? No. I can't. Can I? Did I hurt Lorelai because I couldn't hurt Anna? No. No, it was Chris. It's always been...

No. She was begging _me_ in the street to marry her.

I said... God, what did I say? Something about April, and not jumping, and...

God, that must have sounded like the biggest steaming pile of...

I do jump. When it suits me. I buy a building out from under Taylor. I buy a house. I marry a lawyer. When it suits me, I jump.

But I was mad. Lorelai wasn't around waiting for me to pay attention, calling me and annoying me, so if she pulls a stunt like that in the street? She could damn well wait like I had to, right? Her job to call me, not my job to call her, come over, calm down and find out why she looked like she'd died, and when did I turn into such a jerk? If Jess did this, I'd kick his ass.

If my dad was alive, he'd kick my ass from here to New Haven. And back. Twice.

So would Mom.

I have a key. I never use it anymore.

When is the last time I slept here? Behind that door? When's the last time we made love, spent real time together for _fun_ , didn't have one of us scared of what the other would say next?

When did I turn into the guy who screws it up?

Why didn't I stop myself?

God, that cheating...

Yes. Hang onto that. What _she_ did. So I never have to look at this door again. Never open it again. Never fix another damn thing again. She cheated. She went to _him_. That's unforgivable, and nothing I've done will _ever_ justify her doing that. I don't care if she meant to do it or if he got her drunk or what. She left just like I knew she would. I was right. She's a piece of...

I hate this house, this yard, this door.

Mom died. Rachel left. Nicole-God, I wish she'd shut that door sooner. Now Lorelai. Anna never gave me a chance to know my kid. Now this. Screw 'em all. I don't want or need 'em.

The only person I've ever told about these things is the one who shut that door.

The only person who can talk me down from this kind of blind red-eyed rage is behind that door.

How was I supposed to know she _meant_ it?

Why didn't she tell me sooner?

Okay, yeah, the Vineyard, she told me, but...

And yeah, sure, I mean, how often do I have to be told, but...

No.

She had her chance. I learned my lesson with Rachel. With Anna. With all of them. I forgave her for that vow renewal stunt.

Okay, yeah, she didn't _do_ that, she was caught in the crossfire too but...

 _No more buts_.

I don't care. I won't care. No reason, no excuse, no explanation is enough. None. If she was on fire and went to _him_ for a glass of water, I'd never forgive it. And this is a hell of a lot worse than that.

I want to drive my truck through that door.

No.

I'm done.

There is no such person as Lorelai Gilmore. It was all a lie. A fantasy. I made her up. And you can't be hurt by things that were never true.

I walked away from her for something she never did. I told her not to be in touch with Chris when he's Rory's dad. I was more worried about what people thought of her big meltdown in the street than I was about _her_. In case I looked bad and it might screw up something _else_ in my life.

No! Damn it, no!

No regrets. No forgiveness. No remorse.

She's Christopher's, and good riddance.

I should go to that door. Get out of the truck again, knock on that door, tell her _a year ago I said yes and you made me so happy I couldn't believe it was true and now it's not and I'm sorry_.

Yeah. Look how well that worked when I asked Rachel to stay.

Right. Got it. I'm waking up from the nightmare now. This door is just a door in a house and it's no special house. No one lives there that I ever have to think about again.

I can make that work for me. I have to.

I've got April. That's enough.

Please, let her open the door. Let her show me her tears. Let her open that door and show me she hates herself so I don't have to.

I hold my breath. I wait. I stare at the door.

Figures she doesn't open it.

* * *

AN: While the show told us Luke had a loving childhood home, his mother's early death, with Liz's departure, _could_ create an attitude where he subconsciously expects women to leave even before Rachel makes it three-for-three. Like many prophets of doom, he thus brings about the exact end he dreads. He and Lorelai are kind of Shakespearean that way, only without "air pants".


End file.
